He laughed.

It began with the twisting of lips and the crinkling of eyes - if it wasn't so lovely a sight, Huyana might have thought it foreign on such a marmoreal face. The sound rode through the moonlight on pale wings, and the girl's lips could not help but twist into amusement as well, and it showed in her face, in her gaze. If a stranger were to see them at this exact moment, they might think the pair carelessly lighthearted, devoid of any cares or worries. Did she feel that way around him, this sapphire-eyed general? No, but his presence certainly lessened the pain of living, let her forget her qualms for just a moment, and maybe that was better than any cure; for what is life without pain or doubt or misery? It would be foolish to resign all these emotions as real and important as happiness and joy and love - it would be foolish to abdicate them in the presence of any one being, for if you held someone dearly, wouldn't it be unfair to them to withhold any one part of yourself, even if it were dark and terrible?

He leaned into her, casting a gentle, ardent breath, amusement dancing in his eyes. His soft touch electrified her, sent chills down her spine. She watched him from beneath dark lashes, half-lidded gaze following him carefully. Foolish, the Reaper said, causing the corners of her lips to twist upwards wryly; a sudden boldness was kindled in her face, in her gaze. She drew back momentarily, tantalizingly out of reach, water swirling around her body. "Is it?" she queried, her eyes wandered across his body on dancer's legs, absorbing every angle and curve of his, tracing the edges of muscles as a critic studies masterworks - but in their intentness, they were distant, his form an excuse for her mind to meander away. They returned to his gaze, pensive, sober, but brimming with something else, something softer, like the first rains of spring. What am I but foolish?

Dark legs ventured forwards once more, sloshing through the water as if they were made for it - and maybe they were - maybe she was a water nymph cast in the shell of the land-bound, doomed to wander the earth instead of the seas. Was she damned? Would she always be damned to sadness and disappointment and misery and regret? Was it foolish to consign herself to this General, this destroyer of worlds, before she could ever forgive herself? Lips barely brushed over the taut sinew of his neck, daring to find scabs, to follow scars. Was this how warriors announced their life - by wearing it proudly on their hides; a map of battles won and lost, foes defeated, spars completed? Was this how they were identified among themselves - by cuts in their flesh? But what about the remainder of their lives - how could you learn about their formative years - their mother, their father, their brothers - things far more important than victory or loss.

Vaguely, she wondered if her own father had maps cut into the dapples which bloomed along his sides, or if her mother had them etched into the sterling of her coat. They had both been renown warriors - how strange it was that such a child was conceived from them. Maybe the Nightangel had seen the craving for peace in her child's eyes and rejected it immediately. Sadness weighted her chest, threatening to pull it down - how despicable it was to have left her own blood like that, shivering in the rain. Nepdon had stayed, if for a small while, but soon relinquished her as well; Huyana had been raised lovelessly by Sylvana's Lightning Queen and had run away shortly after being weaned.

How could she ever love if she was cast away like stray flotsam?

Was she ready to strip herself bare for this general, to let him count her ribs before finding her heart?

The roan buried her face into his mane. "Deimos," she murmured, repeating his name a thousand times over in her head.

Maybe she just needed to learn to be.